


Memtest

by tehkittykat



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehkittykat/pseuds/tehkittykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You could try asking for help,” Tron said, dry as a desert, “You know. Something different.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memtest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miz_Bluebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miz_Bluebird/gifts).



The man in the mirror looked stoned out of his mind. He didn’t even have shoes on, crissakes, even though the rock was wickedly sharp, glass-smooth and razor edged.

Come to think of it, his sole was stinging. Sole—soul—there was something hideous about that thought and it wasn’t just the godawful pun. He couldn’t quite parse it, choking momentarily on an acid wave of _something_ from his chest, some dull sullen ember wrapped in rage and righteousness that he couldn’t _quite_ —

“ _Flynn_?”

He knew that voice, that incredulity, but the apparition he turned to face—nothing like the salt-pepper graying man in the mirror, who looked _tired_ and _old_ and scarily _small_ —wasn’t smiling the way he _should_ have been. Looked more like he was trying to decide between reasoning with the crazy man and stabbing him before whatever had clearly broken in his head spilled out into the _system_ around it.

And that meant something too, but he was hard-pressed to figure out what. Flynn… that part at least sounded right-not-right, most of him nodding along to the name even if that same damn hateful spark downright _hissed_ at him for the thought. Flynn—or mostly-Flynn, what the hell _ever,_  he felt like he had been run over by something—nodded. Agreeing with the dangerous mostly-familiar apparition seemed like the smarter thing to do. That thought at least met perfect accord from what at least _felt_ like all the bits of him still scattered around the landscape.

The apparition—a blue-glowing St. Michael who looked _awfully_ familiar—frowned and reached, and before Flynn could quite back away from that deadly-intent look, jabbed him _hard_ in a node of pain and light right over where his heart should be.

Out went the lights.

Kevin Flynn came to again to the sight of Tron’s upside-down boots. Every line and circuit hurt, and his attempt at an actual greeting was brought short by the realization that yes, every _line and circuit_ hurt.

“You should take it slowly. I don’t think you’ve ever _had_ a hard reboot,” Tron said conversationally, neutral expression swimming into view framed against the infinite spiderweb patterns of light in the softly glowing blue-purple of the sky. Not a Grid sky—he’d seen more of _that_ than he ever wanted to see, for a distracted handful of microcycles almost brought to tears by the riotous _color_ of this place.

“Hi to you too,” he finally managed, seeing Tron roll his eyes before the security program stepped back, giving him room to get up when he finally got around to it. No helping hand, though, and he frowned for a moment at the lack. _Rinzler_ would have—but that was the _problem_ , wasn’t it?

“I hadn’t considered that _you_ might have been the data breach,” Tron said, shrugging as Kevin twisted to get a proper look at him. Not the _same_ Tron, not the silent wraith who had been Rinzler and not the stressed and scowling monitor either. It wasn’t just the _look_ of him, though the glassine armor really wasn’t doing anything to make that first scattered impression of an avenging angel seem like _less_ of an accurate assessment. Something else was there, something more obscure lurking in the stalker-patient look he was getting.

“Heaven’s a server farm now?” Kevin said, words spilling out without examination—he really sucked at the Zen thing, didn’t he? But that was also the thought he had been carefully shying away from, wasn’t it? “I’m dead.”

Tron shrugged again, easy and uncaring. “Your logfile’s pretty hashed, but I’m not a recompiler. The hard-boot worked all right.”

“You’re dead too, by the way,” Kevin said, letting himself back down to the glassy earth. The data transit lines wheeled overhead, and it was light-years better to watch them glow and fade instead of Tron’s patient waiting. And who cared if he didn’t move? He’d already had a taste of eternity, and the one damn thing he knew was that it was a _fucking_ long time.

“Alan-One will be disappointed to hear that,” Tron said evenly.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said after another string of moments ticked by.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, if that’s your aim.”

“Tron…” And Kevin had to force himself back up, though the first faint touch of arthritis in his wrists and elbows was absent. Just inertia to contend with, and boy was that a bitch on its own.

“This is Encom node _Nomad_ , Flynn. You breached the system during a diagnostic of the Grid backup—“ And Tron paused, a tiny fraction of a moment lost to calculation—“About two millicycles ago. You were difficult to track down.”

Tron huffed, the neutrality settling into a kind of amusement, still familiar-unfamiliar. “You’re not _derezzed_ , though you’re probably lucky that most of the other monitors have no idea what to make of you and didn’t resist my stand down order.” He paused thoughtfully. “And that data about you has been in the priority queue for cycles.”

“This is Encom,” Kevin said slowly, blinking owlishly at Tron. Part of him was horrified at the casual implication that Tron _might_ have killed him instead. Another part wanted to laugh helplessly because he still _could_ , and wasn’t _that_ a hell of a welcome back to the land of the living?

“This is Encom. If you want to apologize, you’re going to have to talk to Rinzler,” the program said.

Kevin Flynn sat up, catching the reflection of the man in the mirror in the smooth milk-glass crystal around them both. He looked old and tired, smaller than he remembered, and there was a cut in the sole of his right foot, though it looked suspiciously like a _fracture_ and had a foxfire glow that he didn’t _want_ to try and interpret. Tron brooded over them, perched on an outcrop, the mantling and scythe-sharp planes of his armor glowing a steady blue that he had only half-remembered.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kevin said, and just as he’d half-feared, the man in the mirror was himself. Tron stood, silent, his reflection growing larger as he approached. Maybe that was the difference. There was something _bigger_ about him, something fey and alien and _sure_. Even the raging ember in his chest— _Clu_ , unmistakably Clu—knew that this system monitor wouldn’t hesitate a moment to put him down.

“No, thank you,” Tron said, smirking unrepentant as he brushed by for the spring’s exit. Kevin glared half-heartedly, but there was no heat in it. “Are you coming?”

Was he?

Kevin sighed, trying not to be nonplussed as the act of heaving to his feet felt _easier_ than it had in a long, long time. He could roll along, sure. High priority data—that had to mean something good waiting. Maybe Sam had found a way to get him out of the system, back under the sun where he _belonged_ …

Except every line and circuit still ached lowly, slow and cold with half-remembered dullness from low power. And there was that foxfire shine in his sole. And Clu was there, stubbornly, silent accusation hissing acidic in his core at the thought.

Who the hell was he _kidding_?

“I fucked up,” Kevin said softly, and Tron froze at the words. Not dismay.. just.. freezing, the way a cat might if it spotted a bird. Attentive. “I fucked up and you tried to warn me.. _fuck_ , even _Clu_ tried to tell me before he couldn’t anymore. I fucked up and I ran like a chickenshit instead of dealing with it and I shouldn’t fucking _be here_. Not after you _died_ for me. _Twice_.”

Tron turned to him then, somber, and shook his head.

“Flynn. I didn’t go to the Grid,” he said, patient. “It’s not my grudge to bear.. and it’s not _my_ forgiveness to offer.”

“I know.. I _know_.” _Breathe_. He needed to breathe. _Still_ needed to breathe, anyway. “But I have no fucking clue what to do. Okay?”

“Okay.” And Tron was no damn help, just watched him expectantly as he started to pace, the cut—fracture—aching as he walked. Kevin had the hair-raising impression that Tron would very well stand there, watching, for a hundred cycles if that was what it took. Except.. what the hell was he supposed to do? Who was he fucking _kidding_?

“I don’t know what to do,” Kevin said again, softly.

“You could try asking for help,” Tron said, dry as a desert, “You know. Something different.”

“Yeah.. I.. Help?”

Tron smiled, offering his hand. After a moment, Kevin took it, feeling new strength—power transfer—run through him.

“Sure,” Tron said, tugging his hand. “C’mon. We both have work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love/hate everyone in this bar. You know who you are.


End file.
